Take Me Home
by H. R. Connelly
Summary: An orphaned girl is returned to her parents after 10 years. I've been working on this story for over 3 years... I'll get around to it someday and thanks for reading!
1. Prologue

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Take Me Home  
  
Written by H. R. Connelly  
  
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PROLOGUE.....  
  
I never knew my parents. My first memory is one of a large backyard surrounded by a tall red brick wall. There were a few sickly, skinny-looking things that everyone else called trees planted around the yard. I remember standing in a doorway, a warm hand on my shoulder, but a cool voice speaking. She called attention to me by having the motley assortment of children running about happily, stand primly in three lines and say in unison: "Welcome to Charity House." While Mrs. Cranton, as I soon learned to call her, introduced me, the girls whispered and giggled behind their hands, and the boys eyed me suspiciously. I was introduced as Becky, and though I knew that wasn't my name, I couldn't remember what my name really was. The only clue I had to my past was a small, silken purse I found in my pocket up in my tiny attic room later that day. I sat there alone and looked through things most certainly from my past, a past of nearly nine years. A past forgotten. Inside my room,  
quietly sobbing for a forgotten life, and a bleak future, I carefully opened the small silvery blue purse and dug through its contents. There were a few coins and bills that were as alien as my own face. Next I pulled out a very small cloth covered book. The only title was one of Short Stories. I opened the dog-eared book carefully, and on the front page found an inscription written on it in beautiful flowing calligraphy.  
  
"For the amusement of my sweet little butterfly... -Father"  
  
I read over it about three more times, the tears welling up in my eyes. I had obviously been loved, most likely very much. But if I had been loved so dearly, if I had been someone's "little butterfly" why was I sitting here, in the attic of Charity House?  
  
Mrs. Cranton seemed to think my parents had abandoned me. When I arrived, on the doorstep of Charity House, I had been covered in bruises and scars, open wounds and what looked like lash marks. I was a 'special case' and was taken to many doctors. Each one tried to pry out of me the secrets of my own past; secrets I didn't even know. My first year at Charity House was one where my memory was poked and prodded in every way possible, trying to figure out who I was, why I was there, and where I had come from. Mrs. Cranton stopped taking me to the doctors after I started crying in one session. She felt that going to the doctors was causing me greater mental pain than I had had before. I had been adjusting well at the house and in school, and my bruises and scars had faded some. She was right to take me out of the therapy sessions. It helped, and I was soon able to adjust to my new life. 


	2. Chapter One

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Take Me Home  
  
Written by H. R. Connelly  
  
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CHAPTER ONE...  
  
Ten years have passed since I appeared on the steps of Charity House, and I am turning 18 today. I still have that small book, though now it is worn and old. The inscription on the cover is almost to light to read now, but the words are engraved on my heart. Someone loved me once. I still keep the odd money in my purse, but now I have my own money in there as well.  
  
Charity House is on the edge of town, but Springfield isn't a very large town. Charity House rivals the mayor's home in size, and only two buildings are bigger than it, the courthouse, and the bank. Its size is disguised by the many tall green trees that grow along the outside of the backyard wall. I measured my life by these trees. Ten years ago they were skinny and sickly, just as I was when I arrived from out of nowhere. Now they are tall and verdant, having adapted to their surroundings as I did. To earn money, I mowed lawns, planted gardens, trimmed hedges, and helped clean houses. Two years ago I got a job at the grocery store, and work there every weekend and some days after school. I have been saving up for a long time, and now I have enough money to leave. I am thinking of going to college part-time; finding a job and a small apartment somewhere, far away from here. Maybe I can loose myself in Boston. Though I grew accustomed to my new home, the only one I've known,  
I can't spend my entire life longing for what I can't touch, so... I am going to go look for it.  
  
The home discharges kids once they turn 18, and are finished with school. By that time they have an education, but no money for anything, especially for college. They are forced to survive on a job at some fast food restaurant; most come to horrible fates, I'd imagine. It is impossible for me to think of having nothing better to do with my life than wait on people! That's why I've saved up my money. I don't want to die in a world that only wants me to cook their burgers medium-rare.  
  
I must admit that Mrs. Cranton did her best supporting about 40 of us during any given year, getting us through school, illness, and clothing and feeding us, all on community support, and private donations, but she couldn't possibly afford to help anyone with college.  
  
My best friend had to leave two years ago. She has written me, and on numerous occasions, her letters were full of despair and hopelessness. It filled me with a dread that I would end up the same way as her. Recently, her situation has been getting better. She has finally found a steady, well paying job, and is saving up for an education later on. Meredith is lucky. She has survived the harsh real world.  
  
More and more, as I grow older, and see what is happening in this world around me, I feel like I don't belong here. I know it is only a dream, but I can't help wishing that my family were out there somewhere, that my father is still waiting and hoping that his 'little butterfly' will show up. But then the reality of my situation hits me like a blow to the stomach, and I wonder how anyone could harm and then abandon their child on the steps of an orphanage. Some day I *will* find my parents, and ask them all my questions, but that will never happen unless I leave this place.  
  
I lay on my bed in my small cramped closet that Mrs. Cranton calls a room, still deep in thought, having let my mind wander back to a few brief, long forgotten memories of a large, very white bedroom, and a woman's voice singing me to sleep, steady hands tucking me into bed, when the bell for dinner rang. Annoyed I rolled over on my back and stared at the ceiling not wanting the memory to leave me, but my thoughts were distracted by the thundering footsteps of the little kids running down to dinner. I closed my eyes, and reached out with my mind for the lost memory once more, grasping as wispy strands of times past, before I sighed and gave up. I stood up, stretched, and started downstairs, born by a sea of small children, and younger teenagers eager to get to the food.  
  
I tried to put on a smile as I sat down in my usual spot, between two seven-year-old girls, of whom at meals it was my duty to keep an eye on. These long forgotten memories had been surfacing more and more as of late, and anytime I was distracted from one it put me in a very foul mood. Today was no exception, and my mood turned even stormier when Kristen and Marie would not behave.  
  
We had birthday cake for dessert that night, and everyone sang to me. Mrs. Cranton presented her customary birthday card, I had billions of cards stowed away --one for each special occasion in our unfortunate lives. Thankfully dinner was soon over, and because it was my birthday I could leave early, and not have to help with clean up.  
  
On my way out I was detained numerous times, and wished a happy birthday. A few crude but lovingly-made gifts from the small ones were shyly pushed into my hands, and Mrs. McKinnely, the cook gave me a large hug and a nice book by my favorite author, Madeleine L'Engle. We had formed a special bond, when I had a few extra minutes I would make a trip to the kitchen and receive cooking lessons and her companionship.  
  
Up in my room again I sighed thankfully and set about all my last minute preparations for my departure the next day. All my worldly goods were packed in my large backpack I used for school.  
  
I changed into my nightclothes, and set my alarm for 1 AM. That would give me five hours of sleep, and about five and a half hours to get as far away from Charity House as possible. I didn't think anyone would be extremely worried about a missing orphan anyways, especially since I'd be forced to leave soon anyways.  
  
I settled into bed comfortably, my last night in a home I didn't love. 


	3. Chapter Two

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Take Me Home  
  
Written by H. R. Connelly  
  
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CHAPTER TWO....  
  
There was blood, bright red blood everywhere. I was horrified, people were screaming, and I was crying and screaming. Someone was pulling me, pulling me towards the screaming, towards the gore. I reached out, just barely brushing someone's fingertips. Someone kept calling out my name, and I kept screaming, "Mama! Papa!" over and over again. I couldn't get away from the horrible, grabbing, grasping arms that kept pulling me farther away from safety. "Mama! Papa...!  
  
"Mama! Papa!" I screamed as I awoke from the dream suddenly. I was covered in sweat, and tears rolled down my hot sticky face. I sat up slowly, and started taking some deep breaths. I desperately wanted someone, anyone, even old Mrs. Cranton, to be with me, to hug me, and say that everything would be ok, but nobody came. Nobody ever came.  
  
The nightmare has been becoming more and more frequent, for some reason. Tonight was the worst. Everything felt so real; I could smell the death, feel hot fire, and I still felt the grasping arms around my waist. I shivered. I know this dream is not a manifestation of my day. It is a memory. I am normally drawn to my past. I want to know whom I am, where I come from. I am able to forget the state I was left in when Mrs. Cranton opened her door to me. Yet, when one of these dreams comes, I wish to be contented in the life I lead now at the orphanage.  
  
When I had calmed down some, I looked at my clock, which read 15 till one. Since it was almost one I quickly dressed, threw my clock in my bag, and headed down the creaky stairs.  
  
The orphanage looked eerie and still this early in the morning. It was also very dark; I almost tripped over the rug in the front hall. I slipped out of the house, silently, and quickly walked to the road. Luckily there were no cars, so I turned left onto the road that led out of town. Without looking back, I set off briskly.  
  
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Mrs. Cranton had woken early, at around six. She didn't get any sleep these days; she blamed it on her stress, when it was really then encroaching arthritis. Her bones ached when she rose from her bed, and protested as she pulled on her knee-length skirt and careworn blouse. She had been working for about an hour on the finances when the doorbell rang.  
  
She set down her pen, and hurried to the door. Experience had taught her that very early visitors always brought bad news. Mrs. Cranton fleetingly hoped that Greg hadn't snuck away again, but her fears were quieted when she opened the door to a rather ordinary looking couple.  
  
"Yes, can I help you?" She asked politely.  
  
"Well, yes," the man stated. "Actually, we're hoping to find our daughter here."  
  
"Oh.... Oh, my. Please come in. This is certainly unexpected." Mrs. Cranton led them into her office and offered them some coffee. "We don't normally get a couple who are looking for a specific child."  
  
"We've been looking for her for quite some time." The woman stated as she sipped her coffee. She eyed her husband and then continued. "You see, about ten years ago, she was taken from us." The woman frowned, and looked into her cup of coffee.  
  
Mrs. Cranton frowned meditatively. If a child had been kidnapped, and then taken to an orphanage, the authorities would most certainly have found this out.... "How old was your daughter when she was kidnapped?"  
  
"She had just turned eight," the man said. "She was taken on her eighth birthday."  
  
Now that Mrs. Cranton had more information, she wasn't so sure about their story. If a child of eight had been taken from her parents, and brought to an orphanage, wouldn't any sensible child have known to tell the authorities who she was, and where she really belonged? "Mr. and Mrs...."  
  
"Teasdale." The woman said quickly.  
  
"Of course. Mr. and Mrs. Teasdale, can you describe her features? Her hair color, eye color...," she was cut off mid sentence when Mr. Teasdale pushed a small painted portrait across her desk. Mrs. Cranton caught her breath. She pulled a scrapbook from ten years ago of a shelf full of yearly chronicles and flipped quickly through the pages till she found one Polaroid from that Christmas. She scanned the faces and found the one she was looking for... dark brown hair, light blue eyes, bruises and angry scars still covering her exposed arms and smiling face....  
  
"Is this the girl you are looking for?" Mrs. Cranton asked as she showed the Teasdales the picture.  
  
The woman gasped. "We've finally found her!" She exclaimed, her eyes lighting up and a smile spreading over her face. Mr. Teasdale was less emotional, and if Mrs. Cranton hadn't looked closely, she would have believed him to have no feeling on the matter. However, her shrewd eye did discern some sign of happiness and relief in his eyes.  
  
"She came to us ten years ago, as you say. But, you see," Mrs. Cranton said as she pulled the album away from the couple and placed it gently back in its rightful spot on the shelf. "When she arrived, she was in such a terrible condition. It had been obvious someone had beaten her... badly, and repeatedly." She paused to let it sink in. Mrs. Cranton wasn't sure if it was her imagination or not, but she thought that she sensed the Teasdales had already known this. It only lasted a second, and then Mrs. Teasdale exclaimed with horror, putting her hands to her mouth to stifle a sob.  
  
"My God...."  
  
"When she arrived in our hands, she had no memory of anything previous. I found her standing lying on the front steps, completely bewildered. She didn't know her name, where she came from, who her parents were." The Teasdales looked rightly shocked and pained. "I called her Becky. She didn't even know her own name! Mr. and Mrs. Teasdale, I don't know what happened to her, but in general, a kidnapper wouldn't take a child and then abandon her on the steps of an orphanage! I have to be frank with you. The conditions we found her in when she came to us put you, provided you are her parents, under a great deal of suspicion."  
  
Mrs. Teasdale seemed to blanch slightly and then steel her reserve. However, Mr. Teasdale bristled at Mrs. Cranton's comment.  
  
"I never beat my child." Mr. Teasdale said through slightly clenched jaws, his hands firmly gripping the armrest of his chair. He commanded such obedience that Mrs. Cranton faltered under the pressure.  
  
"Well... I'll ask someone to bring her down here. As long as you have her birth certificate, we'll see what happens." Mrs. Cranton stated coolly. "If you prove to us that you are her parents, we'll have to perform an investigation." What with all Becky had been through she didn't want to end up placing her right back in the hands of someone who would treat her the same way. Mrs. Cranton picked up her phone and quickly told Mrs. McKinnely to bring Becky down. "She'll be down in just a minute. Now, may I see her birth certificate?"  
  
Mrs. Teasdale nodded and confidently pulled out a birth certificate. "Julianne Teasdale," mumbled Mrs. Cranton reading over the details. "Born September 3, 1982 at New York City Memorial Hospital. Delivered by Dr. Gregory Wilmot." She addressed the Teasdales. "So her name is Julianne?"  
  
Before the Teasdales could answer, Mrs. McKinnely suddenly opened the office door. The Teasdales stood up expectantly, as she delivered the shocking news. Becky wasn't in her bed, and was nowhere to be found. Mrs. Teasdale looked about ready to cry, but as if anticipating her husband's fury, placed a calming hand quickly on his arm. Mr. Teasdale looked furious and turned wrathful eyes towards Mrs. Cranton, who hurriedly telephoned the police. 


	4. Chapter Three

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Take Me Home  
  
Written by H. R. Connelly  
  
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CHAPTER THREE...  
  
I reached Bloomington, a larger, more modern town than Springfield, around seven-thirty. It was about 18 miles away from Springfield, and I was very tired. I had been moving as quickly as I could. Ahead of me there was a nice looking family restaurant. I headed towards it, eager for breakfast.  
  
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"You decided what you would like to eat yet?" The waitress asked me nicely.  
  
"Yes, I'll have the French toast, please." I chose my favorite breakfast, one that was a rarely afforded luxury at Charity. In no time I was enjoying a nice hot breakfast. Half-way done, I happened to glance up. I noticed a police officer standing at the front desk. The hostess was nodding, and pointed to my waitress. He walked over to her, and started talking to her, asking questions. As she started leading him toward me, my apprehensions were confirmed. I quickly slipped out of my chair, and dragging my backpack with me, headed towards the kitchen and bathrooms. I started running, unsure as to why I would be, when I head a man's voice shout, then he called my name. I reached the back exit as he started to call out again, but the sharp bang of the door cut him off mid-word. I ran around the side of the restaurant, heart pounding, but stopped before rounding the corner of the building. I peered around the corner, out front were two cars. One was Mrs. Cranton's; the other was a police car from Springfield. I silently cursed my luck, and wondered why they would be making such a fuss. After all, it wasn't as if I was wanted.  
  
No one had noticed me, so I slowly stepped backwards till the building hid me completely. I turned around intending to look for a quick getaway, but encountered a tall blond man who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. He didn't move, just looked at me, and I thought I saw amazement in his blue eyes. I shivered slightly, and wondered if I should run back towards the police cars and Mrs. Cranton. I had been raised with a healthy fear of strangers, especially given my past.  
  
"Julianne." He said calmly, and reached out a hand. "Its time to come home." When I made no movements, he came towards me and took my arm. I felt as if I had been asleep and his touch had suddenly woken me. I tried to jerk away, but he already had a strong grasp on my arm. "Julianne!" He said again, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Don't you know me?" He was slightly more insistent this time, and his grasp on my arm tightened, his fingers starting to dig into my skin. I panicked slightly, and unsuccessfully tried to pull away from him.  
  
"Who are you?" I cried when his grip on my arm held firm. He didn't answer me and somehow or another was able to get a hold of my other arm.  
  
"Julianne, it's me." He gave me a small shake, like an adult frustrated with a small child, yet still maintained his calm demeanor. "Don't you remember me?" His fingers dug into my skin and loosing all sense of safety started screaming for help. It seemed like ages before I heard footsteps rounding the corner of the building.  
  
Strong hands pried his fingers from my skin. A feeling of freedom and safety flooded my senses as Mrs. Cranton and Mrs. McKinnely ran to me. As I slowly calmed down, I realized salty tears were on my lips and cheeks, and I was shaking uncontrollably. It was as if my horrible dreams had come true, dreams filled with hands grasping my waist, my arms, hurting me dreadfully. The tears slowly stopped coming, and I soon beheld the man, and now a dark haired woman, standing beside him, they were both staring at me. Mrs. Cranton stood to one side, and the police stood scattered around.  
  
"Becky, these people have claimed they are your parents." Mrs. Cranton said shortly. She was rather annoyed with Becky for disappearing like she had, especially on top of this new affair concerning the Teasdales.  
  
I stared at Mrs. Cranton in awe, and then turned to look at the two people before me. "My parents?"  
  
I didn't know what to say, and it seemed neither did anyone else.  
  
Mrs. Cranton sighed, realizing that her training didn't cover just such a situation. She put a hand on Becky's back and rubbed it softly. "Well..., lets all go back to Charity, we have a lot of details to work through."  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
"Why didn't you tell me what He did to her!" Sarah stormed, brushing her hair viciously. The beautiful brunette sat before a large wooden framed mirror. She turned to stare at her husband, who sat spread out comfortably on the large bed. Her stare was bitingly accusing.  
  
"We had been through so much already, I didn't want to make it any harder on you." He replied as he sat up and came over to her.  
  
"Did you know that she wouldn't remember who we were? That He took her memory from her? I just can't believe my baby, your daughter, doesn't know who we are! You didn't tell me anything, and I wish you had." Sarah put her brush down and stood up to face her husband. "It would have made it easier if you'd have just told me."  
  
"I should have known better." Her husband conceded. "But you do not understand what I saw when I confronted Him. It was enough to make me... I wanted to kill him for what he had done. I wanted to keep it from you if I could."  
  
"Don't you know that I realized something was wrong when you came back without her? How could He take her and not be cruel to her?" Sarah sighed and slowly went to the bed and sat down on the edge, back straight. "I have waited for so long to find our daughter, and the first thing you do is scare her out of her wits, which I might add isn't in our favor with the damned investigation they have to perform."  
  
"My darling, I am not infallible, as many would like to believe. I thought there might be some hope she'd remember us when she saw us. It will all go well, I've arranged it."  
  
"Oh… I know. I just wish-" her husband had swiftly silenced her with a finger to her lips.  
  
"Remember where that got you last time." He said softly. "The important thing is that we will be able to bring her home at last."  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
After the Teasdales found me at the restaurant, we all drove back to Charity. Mrs. Cranton took the Teasdales into her office with some policemen, and then came out to explain the situation to me. An investigation, at which I must testify, and drudge up the unhappy memories of my first year in Charity  
  
After a few hours, Mrs. McKinnely came up to let me know that the Teasdales had left.  
  
"Dear, till the investigation is over, I'm afraid you won't be allowed to meet with the Teasdales," she looked at me, waiting for my response.  
  
"Do I have to testify? Everyone knows I don't remember anything. I don't see the point."  
  
"I'm sorry, but there is no other option. You must testify, as hard as it may be to do so. We have to make sure that you aren't being put back in the same situation you came from. We do want to place you in a home, and preferably with your biological parents… if they can prove that you were kidnapped."  
  
"Oh, I know. I'm glad that everyone is being so careful, but to tell the truth, I'm scared of them."  
  
"You're bound to be. Perhaps when it's proven that you were kidnapped, and not beaten by your parents, you will feel safer around them."  
  
"I doubt it." Becky replied. She couldn't feature all that had happened that day, and couldn't quite decide whether she had stumbled on extreme fortune or bad luck.  
  
"I'm sure it will turn out for the best." Mrs. McKinnely rose with a note of finality in her voice. She went to the door. "Things most often do," she said and closed the door behind her. 


End file.
